Heliotrope
by Kasarix
Summary: She is made of bone, bloodstone, and desert breezes. In which Night Vale is very proud of being a full eight hours older than Desert Bluffs, you know, that thing over there.


_Kites, floating high upon invisible currents of black magick in our beloved desert. We do not need wings to fly, we just think we do. We have been capable of flight all along. Welcome to Night Vale._

It is 10 PM. In a particularly quiet and empty corner of the desert, an ageless and vibrantly sonorous _voice_ croons into the silence of the night. Night Vale builds herself up from the sandy ground, starting with a spindly radio tower equipped with a blinking red light. The radio station appears next, even though the voice has already been broadcasting for some time.

_And now for the news._

As the smooth voice of the radio announcer narrates the goings-on of the town, buildings rise from the desert floor. People, or at least beings-that-look-vaguely-like-humans, appear from swirling vortexes ripped open diagonally across walls. They are old and familiar to Night Vale, but new and young all the same. Most importantly, they are _real_ or at least _semi-real_ and Night Vale has loved them forever. Many of them lack pain-sensing nerves, which will be a boon to them in the coming days of painful existence. Families consisting of adults, children, and government-approved pets like electric eels establish homes in the hollow buildings that were merely _houses_ seconds before. Clocks manifest themselves on walls and promptly stop working and fill up with metal shavings.

_Let's take a look at traffic._

If neither roads nor cars existed in Night Vale before this point, no one would dare mention it. A car lot hurriedly establishes itself next to the residential area. Dusty streets pave their way through Night Vale in rapid, organic lines. A roundabout appears in the desert outside of town, unconnected to the main road several meters to its left.

_And now, a word from our sponsor._

Businesses and restaurants appear, shimmering abruptly into existence. An Arby's appears where there was once only an unreasonably spindly cactus. A bowling alley materializes, electric lighting already on and non-corporeal equipment fully functioning. The library is suddenly populated with rabid librarians, prowling the bookshelves with claws and other fearsome appendages extended. Radios slide easily into existence on the countertops of each establishment.

_The new Subway is located in the obelisk made entirely of lead near the center of our radiant burgh. It features windows installed with invisible glass and no doors. Subway: eat fresh._

_...let us go to the weather._

The forecast consists of skies in varying shades of brown as well as minimal cloud cover and burning sun. During the day, it will be hot enough to melt birds of prey and juvenile lizards as well as evaporate any and all uncovered reservoirs of imaginary water. Night Vale residents are encouraged to wear sunscreen of SPF 666 for protection. As the moon emits particularly harmful radiation every Sunday night, residents are warned not to stare at it for too long or risk having their eyes burned out. The scorching sun, radioactive moon, and small, pseudo-mammalian creatures that populate the desert are already an integral part of the lifestyle of Night Vale residents. The skinny cacti, on the other hand, will take some time to get used to, but the man on the radio expresses his confidence that they will fit in just fine.

_Remember, the only thing brighter than one thousand suns is one thousand and one suns. But not one thousand and two suns. Never one thousand and two. All numbers greater than and including the number one thousand and two have been made illegal by the mayor of Night Vale, in cooperation with a Vague, Yet Menacing Government Agency._

Night Vale admits that she may have gone overboard with the town administration, but _someone_ has to keep her beloved residents safe. And so, the local government takes tight control of the corporeal, semi-tangible, and non-real aspects of Night Vale as the town herself drops into sleep after an exhausting evening of creation, sending snores reverberating through the desert as indescribable subterranean earthquakes.

_Good night, Night Vale. Good night._

Slowly, the echoing Voice of Night Vale fades away into the stillness of dead air. The night passes in silence, the new-but-old citizens of Night Vale asleep in their beds, eyes tightly shut and bloodstone circles dormant until morning. Further out in the untamed desert, howling erupts as a local colony of spiderwolves emerges for the nightly hunt and ritualistic sacrifice. The only other noise that disturbs the perfect peace comes from the buzzing black helicopters of the Sheriff's Secret Police patrolling the dark sky.

_Today's proverb: The only enemy that you should ever fear is the one that hides under your bed at night and listens to you sleep._

* * *

It is 6 AM. If you stand on top of the local sand dune and listen very closely, you might hear a cheery "Good morning, Desert Bluffs!" ringing out across the sands in the distance. But that's okay. Night Vale is eight whole hours better than Desert Bluffs and she is content with that.

The brilliantly hot sun rises into an electric taupe sky, illuminating a brand new morning for Night Vale and her beloved residents.

* * *

_"Love is all you need to destroy your enemies."_

_— Welcome to Night Vale, ep. 27- First Date_


End file.
